Red Dead Revelations: Stories from the Badlands
by Patriot44
Summary: It's 1895 and the Van der Linde gang is on the move. While in New Austin, they pay a visit to their friends in the Billings-Earley gang, but find them dwindling and in need of assistance. Actions that start out small soon escalate, and Dutch and the crew find them facing a rival outlaw group and Mexican mercenaries.


**Disclaimer: **Red Dead is property of Rockstar. I own nothing and don't claim to own anything.

**Warning:** Includes violence gore, profanity, references to things like sex and drugs, and what some may consider intense scenes. Viewer discretion is advised

XX

Southwest Skirmish #1

XX

"There was a unique beauty to a moon-lit night in the New Austin desert. Travelers on their trails would often forgo the amenities of towns like Tumbleweed and Armadillo, and instead camp under the stars. A warm fire, some grub, good drink, and good company, these were all the amenities one needed when they were way out west.

The reason more people didn't enjoy the natural splendor of the desert was because it was such a dangerous place, there were scorpions and rattlers sure, but they were far from the greatest danger. If one were to get lost or find themselves without the proper provisions, then they'd be at the mercy of the elements, most of all being the tyranny of the sun and its unforgiving heat.

For some making their way through the desert, it made more sense to travel at night and rest during this day. This way one could avoid the heat. But it also put you at risk to another danger, perhaps the greatest risk there was when you were in the desert out west: And that was the threat of those with ill-intent.

For Cath Jensen, the night landscape of the desert was to be the last thing he ever saw. Even though he wasn't dead yet, he was certain he'd be soon enough. He had had a run-in with a group that had ill-intent for him. The moment he saw them, he knew who they were and what they wanted. He tried to flee but one of them shot his horse. Determined to survive, he scrambled to his feet and took off into the desert on foot. He knew that he wouldn't get far, but he had to try.

Once they caught him they began to beat him, but their leader soon called them off. Apparently, he needed to be "alive and cogent" for what they had in mind. That provided him with a small amount of hope, but it turns out what they had in mind was to bury him up to his neck. They had dug the hole beforehand, bound his hands, and told him to get down on his knees. They explained to him that it was either this, or they begin cutting bits and pieces off him, so he remained still and shook as his body was buried in dirt.

"He answered the questions they asked, he figured it would make things easier on him, and he had no loyalty to any of the people he was implicating.

Once the questions we're finished, there was a tense silence, and then the leader spoke.

"Now we decide how you die."

Cath Jensen had little fear of death, and never thought he'd live this long. But those words still cut into him.

"What would be more merciful to you? Should one of us shoot you right now? Or we can leave you here. This of course would provide you with a meager hope of survival, someone might find you here and rescue you…But if not, then you die slowly. You'll roast in the heat, knowing that you'll never taste water again."

"Jensen thought about the bottle that he had in his saddle. One of his few regrets was that he'd never get to drink it. If there was a heaven, he wondered if there'd be liquid refreshments there. It was heaven, right?

The leader continued on "An interesting conundrum for you. One option ensures death, but one that is quick. The other options leaves room for survival, but in the event of death it's a particularly gruesome death…Which one do you choose?"

Jensen looked up at the leader with contempt "Suppose I tell you what I think is merciful, and you do the opposite."

This drew a burst of snickering from the assembled men. The leader smirked and addressed his pack.

"Mister Jensen has quite the opinion of us, and of himself for that matter. He accuses us of being petty sadists who gloat in his misfortune. Does he think we serve no other purpose than to make him suffer? Or perhaps he overestimates his own importance? He thinks he is so insidious that anyone would naturally want to make his death as undesirable as possible."

Jensen growled irately. He knew he was going to die and didn't care, it was the waiting that got to him "Enough of this shit! Just kill me or don't, I don't need more!"

This led to more snickering, but not as much as the first time. The leader regarded him thoughtfully.

"Hmm yes, I suppose we don't need more either."

The leader held out his right hand, one of his men handed him a unique double action revolver.

"If it makes any difference to you, we're going to kill the others as well."

The peaceful desert night was disrupted by the flash and sound of a gunshot. All was quiet after that.

XX

_Gaptooth Ridge, A Few Days Later_

"This type of country was made for men like us Simon…"

"The heat tells me otherwise…"

A stagecoach made its way through Gaptooth Ridge. It was transporting ten people, one of whom was an infant child. Few who saw this lone coach passing would've guessed it belonged to one of the most notorious and colorful outlaw gangs in the west, one who's reputation only grew as the years passed and the west grew weaker.

The gang's second-in-command, the gray-haired and seasoned Hosea Matthews, held the reins to the coach; while the gang's cook, the balding and burly Simon Pearson sat shotgun.

On top of the coach were three men who served as the gang's trio of gunmen. Arthur Morgan was a natural outlaw and the gang's most veteran member after Van der Linde and Matthews, having been with them for eighteen years. The rugged John Marston was the youngest of the three and had been with the gang for ten years. Bill Williamson was a temperamental bruiser of a man who'd been with the gang for only one year, but in the time since then had proven himself as a loyal soldier for Dutch Van der Linde.

Inside the coach were the remaining three members of the gang, one of whom was carrying her recently born child. Abigail Roberts, a former working girl who had been introduced to the gang through an associate known only as "Uncle." In her arms was John Jr. or "Jack," who she had given birth to last month, the result of her relationship with John Marston.

Susan Grimshaw was the gang's matriarch and taskmaster, responsible for making sure everyone in the gang was doing their part. An older woman who had spent her formative years in the west, she was as tough as most men. She was among Van der Linde's oldest affiliates, and there was little doubt that she was in her position because of merit and experience.

And then there was Dutch Van der Linde himself. As far as outlaw leaders went, he was an unconventional one: He was well-dressed, charismatic, and had more education than most other men in his profession had or needed. He was the mayor of this community of nomads, all of whom had been recruited by him at a young age or had elected to follow him out of awe for who he was and the ideals he aspired to.

The gang had crossed the California-New Austin border some hours ago. They had hit a string of successful jobs and scores across California and were now seeking to lay low in the desert. Gaptooth Ridge was not their main destination though, they were just there to see friends of theirs.

As the coach made its way down the dirt road, Simon Pearson spotted another wagon in the distance. It was parked on the side of the road, which made Pearson a little uneasy. New Austin was notorious for its highwaymen

"Up ahead Hosea."

Matthews looked towards what Pearson was looking at. "Yeah, I see them."

"Road agents?"

"We'll see." He turned his head towards the three men on top of the coach. "Gentlemen; be alert to that carriage up ahead."

"Marston and Williamson kept their hands close to their revolvers, Morgan grabbed a nearby shotgun with both hands but kept it hidden from sight.

As the Van der Linde gang pulled up to the unmoving wagon, they saw that it read "R. Edward Coltrane. Photographer, surveyor, botanist."

The door to the wagon opened and a young man with straw-colored hair stumbled out. He looked at the Van der Linde gang and their wagon with dull surprise.

Hosea gestured to Pearson that everything was alright, he turned to address the man with straw colored haired. "Good morning. Would you be Mr. Coltrane?"

"I…My name is…" the man mumbled.

"Garrett!" called another voice from inside the wagon. "Who are you talking to!?"

Another man came out of the wagon. He was older with dark gray hair and a matching mustache and sideburns. He looked at the Van der Linde coach with suspicion; the three rough-looking men on top of the wagon being particularly suspicious. "Er…Good day" he called out. "Might I help you?"

"Just passing through" Hosea said as he made his way down from where he sat on the wagon. "We saw you on the side of the road and wondered if you folks would be in need of assistance."

"Oh…That's good of you sir, but we need no assistance. We're merely taking photographs."

"I take it your Mister Coltrane then?"

"Yes sir, R. Edward Coltrane."

Hosea gently bent his head forward in greeting "Michael Irving Davenport, but I prefer Mike Davenport."

Hosea looked at the straw-colored man who was standing next to Coltrane awkwardly.

"This is my uh…apprentice Garrett."

"Hello" Garrett said.

The door to the Van der Linde's coach opened, and Dutch emerged. His boots hitting the dirt as he did so.

Coltrane and Garrett looked at Dutch in silent awe, his appearance and the presence he cast making it very clear to them that he was the one in charge of…whoever these people were.

"Making new friends?" Dutch said jauntily as he walked over to Hosea and the two men whose names he did not know.

"Allow me to introduce you," Hosea said, gesturing towards the men, "Mr. R. Edward Coltrane and his assistant Garrett."

"Pleasure" Coltrane said to Dutch.

"The pleasure's all mine, Howard Van Allsburg." Dutch looked at the writing on Coltrane's wagon "A photographer?"

"Yes. I'm photographing plants for the Department of Agriculture."

"Riveting work? Photography?"

"Ah, let us just say, that I could speak at some length about it."

Dutch grinned, "Well fascinating, it's an unusual curiosity to meet a man in the government's employ whose activities are so benign."

Coltrane decided he wouldn't address that comment, for fear of where it might lead, "And what brings you and Mr. Davenport to New Austin?"

"We're treasure hunters," Dutch claimed.

"Treasure hunters? How grand."

"Oh, I'm afraid it's not as grand as you might thing," Hosea minimized. "We mostly scavenge derelict mines."

"Garrett and I have never encountered treasure hunters before, have we Garrett?"/span/p

"No, I don't believe we have" Garrett said tepidly.

"Might Garrett and I at take your photograph?"

Dutch chuckled "What's this then? You want a photograph of us?"

"We originally stopped to test our equipment and photograph some plants, but now that this chance meeting has occurred, it seems appropriate that you'd be the subject of our photograph."

Dutch was quiet for a moment, "And what would you do with this photograph?"

"It would be your photograph. We will take it here, and once it's ready, one of you can come to Tumbleweed and retrieve it. Just look for the wagon."

"What do you think Howard?" Hosea asked.

"I don't see the harm in it," Dutch said with a shrug. "Very well Mr. Coltrane, I will get my people ready while you set up your camera."

"Well done. Garrett, go get the camera."

"What seems to be the issue?" Arthur called down to Dutch as his surrogate father approached the coach.

"No issue, it seems that Mr. Coltrane would like to take a photograph of us."

Arthur exchanged a look with John and Bill. "Why would he want to do that?" Arthur wondered suspiciously.

"Come now, it's a photograph," Dutch said conciliatorily. "There's no need for undue paranoia." He then went to window of the coach, "Miss Grimshaw, Abigail. These fine men have offered to take our picture. Please candidly come out and introduce yourselves?"

Miss Grimshaw and Abigail departed from the inside of the carriage, Abigail still holding her one-month old son.

"Oh, you have a child!" Coltrane exclaimed.

"Yes, his name is Jack," Abigail said happily."

"Is…" Coltrane hesitated, not wanting to be indelicate. "Is one of these gentlemen the father?"

"Abigail frowned. "We think it's 'that' one" she said, gesturing towards John on top of the coach."

Coltrane awkwardly looked away. "What was that Garrett?" he said suddenly, looking towards his assistant/apprentice."

"I-I didn't say anything."

"It only took them a minute to arrange themselves for the photograph.

Miss Grimshaw and Abigail stood next to Dutch, Jack in his mother's arms.

"Bill and John sat on the side of the top of the coach, Arthur stood up behind them and posed with his shotgun.

"Hosea returned to his seat next to Pearson, the two of them looking towards the camera from where they sat.

"Splendid then," Coltrane announced. "Now are we ready?"

XX

The photo that is taken here is the photo Mr. Pearson has in his store in the RDR2 credits. It's where I got the inspiration for this story in particular.

Reviews are appreciated.

The Van der Linde gang meet with old friends, and the goings-on in New Austin are explored more.


End file.
